Mistermafio
Member
|
The Witch She was different, she was unique. She was a woman, and she wasn't weak. She stood up for what she knew was right, she sang and danced and drank all night. Never scared of a fight, even the roughest men could not stand their sight. Every woman hated her. She bulged and sang, all alone. Never one for cooking, nor had she ever cleaned, or cared, or sown. Then the prosecution came, and she knew she should run and hide. She was sure no one'd try and snitch. But she didn't, and they called her a witch. The trial wasn't fair. It never was, would never be. They humiliated her, called her names, made her cry. But they didn't let her die. They bombarded her with rotten fruit and painful stone, then left her to sit alone. In the burning midday sun. Yet still they weren't done. She was different, she wasn't fake. She was a witch, so they burned her at the stake.
|